


Austin, Atlantis

by literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt, Loneliness, Poetry, Sadstuck, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte/pseuds/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Must have been lonely knowing they were the last of humanity in their time. Based on Plazmataz's song by the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Austin, Atlantis

Carcass buildings hover over the ghosts of streets;  
footsteps echo in our interrupted history.  
The fuchsia melody of death plays like isolation  
from the open doorway of desolation.  
Ink stains of blood splotched  
across ready and red love outlawed.  
Confidence in the face of tyranny has its cost,  
and the price determined who and what was lost.  
Dads used to bake cookies with their children,  
back when families were a thing that existed.  
There were memories founded in this city  
that were spit upon and burned without an ounce of pity.  
From the rubble, there is no hope  
for an abandoned rebellion against her ropes.  
We weren't taught about how humanity fought  
her frosted cupcake onslaught,  
but we were raised with the sagacity  
that to our planet we are foreign debris.  
Two lone children, separated by seas  
grew up like carapaces emptied.  
Our guardians were killed in battle,  
and that's why one of us takes such long showers.  
Like pouring alcohol down the drain,  
the filth on his skin is washed away.  
His ribs and lungs are caked in soot,  
and, if he coughs, he hacks up dirt.  
There's a hollowness in metallic eyes,  
clever and sneaky but emptied by rhymes.  
He needs someone to call him out on his outward defense,  
but maybe they actually do prefer the pretense.  
No matter how long we act happy,  
it won't change the fact that we're lonely.  
And she likes to poison the blood in her body  
in direct doses of venom in rhapsody.  
Quivering notes on the violin of her throat,  
gasping down coherency on a slender bow.  
Wrap a homemade scarf around her neck  
to hold back the champagne from singing out her regrets.  
If she let it be seen through her vulnerable skin,  
she'd lose the transparency of her gin.  
With the musicals of drought in her veins,  
she can fly away from the quickening pain.  
Their loss is thickening to an unstoppable heart beat  
about to break from their ribs onto the street.  
But there won't be anything or anyone to greet them there,  
just a graveyard town already foggy with despair.  
“Welcome to Austin, Atlantis,” he says in his place,  
and she'll say the same because hers is nameless.  
We are the last of our humanity -  
and we carry the weight in the names Dirk and Roxy.


End file.
